Hiphop Is Dead
Hip-Hop is dead
I can’t feel the throb, the devotion, the dedication
I wear all black
Black stilettos, black cut dress, aimed real low
Seductive but simple, I know my place
Beside the King, my sweet deceased Revolutionist
Rap’s number one supporter, holding the casket with a broken
S I G H
Someone plays, a radio, across the way
Slick beats drip past the ears to slime the brain
Wet and easy manipulated clay
Media displays wealth and misogyny
50 million dollar chains
Females addicted to being slapped around
Like China Dolls in half-made Cl o thes
Pose, Shawty and let this crunk beat fill your hips
Purse your lips, Mami, and I’ll let you
Be my accessory
Remember when the revolution was a evolution of the mind
Freestyles match drums in intensity
When freestyles were uncontrolled like the wild brown skin he was in
I felt, loved, Hip-hop in my veins
Let him be the catalyst for the beating of my heart
I was so in love with his swagger, his love of himself and his people
Hat tipped real low to hide the pain
Beat real tight to stop the taint
Of failure and to rise like the dust after a stampede
I’d take Hip-Hop to bed every night
Let him rise and fall like the heaving of my chest
It was so hot I could barely breathe for the intensity overcoming me
The pounding of intellect in my throat
Stroked me from head to toe
And Rocked my ghetto loving soul
And he said things I’ve waited my whole life to hear
play sweetly in my ear
Dreaming of dreams too big
To let fade away
He grew shallow, loving women with hollow heads and thick thighs
Low rides and forgetting what he left at home
Long nights and overtime left me alone
Released hundreds of artists
Torn between money and the spoken word
His best friends tried to revive what was inside, too late the damage took over
50 Cent arrived with Lil’s, and Young’s and a mess of southern heat
I was there when the light left his eyes
After Dr.Dre’s Chronic
Hip-Hop was Dead
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